


Hot & Cold

by PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess



Category: Marvel, Spiderman - Fandom, Wolverine - Fandom, X-Men
Genre: Adult!Peter, Gift fr a wonderful friend, M/M, Mentions of Stark & Banner & JARVIS, Sick fic!, everyone lives in stark tower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 15:08:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21478372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess/pseuds/PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess
Summary: [GIFT] Stumbling home after a mission goes wrong, Peter's just looking for a warm place to curl up and die. Wolverine, however, won't let him.
Relationships: Logan (X-Men)/Peter Parker, Peter Parker/Jmes Logan, Spiderman/Wolverine
Comments: 2
Kudos: 63





	Hot & Cold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Freshsalad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freshsalad/gifts).

Frantically falling out of the lift in a mess of trembling limbs, he grabs at the bare walls of the tower and inwardly curses at the odd lack of railings to hold his weary self upright. Scrabbling hands leaving a terrifying trail of muck, mess and blood as he stumbled towards the common area; throat far too raw from coughing up lungfuls of brackish, foul riverwater, to call out for help. 

It felt like there wasn't enough air in all the world to fill his aching lungs; every breath crackled and wheezed disconcertingly. Gods, he hoped someone was here... there had to be, after he'd made it all that way... let there be help here. The pounding in his head matched the thundering of his heart; stomach roiling violently with every shaky step the weary hero managed to take. 

There's a dull thrumming that borders on the edge of comprehension, and he's almost certain that JARVIS might be trying to talk to him, but nothing seems to be penetrating the cotton-filled cavity of his skull.  The world span, and he shut his eyes as the intense vertigo twited the corridor beyond comprehension; a sharp burst of pain flashed behind his clenched eyelids as the hero fell heavily against the wall, the only real thing in his world right now.

Fighting an enemy that could not be daunted by super strength, and losing humiliatingly, the hero couldn't bring himself to feel anything but an overwhelming sense of nausea. His attire was in tatters, just enough remained to still call it a uniform, but the bare flesh was battered and covered in goosebumps, though it was searing hot.  What a mess he must look, he tried to grin at the thought. His bones were aching, muscles trembling, breath rasping into a heaving chest that crackled and wheezed disconcertingly with every exhalation. He needs to sit down... just for a minute. Just-... just a minute. _A little rest, and then he could-... then he could-..._

A familiar voice barked out something in a loud, worried tone that seemed to park a last reserve of energy somewhere deep in the hero's chest, and his eyes fight the intense dizzy lethargy to open enough so he could focus on the bulky form racing towards him. The voice like a pleasant, deep buzz as frantic questions melded together. 

"_...nnnghmmmm'fiiiinnnnneeee..._" he mumbled, swaying as he pushed his weight away from the supportive wall, as if to take a step towards this unexpected support, and pitching forwards immediately. Falling into the comfortingly familiar arms, Peter sighs as his trembling body sags, finally allowing his exhausted consciousness to flee into the comforting darkness of unconsciousness... safe and secure in the knowledge that he had made it to help in time.

Breathless and wide-eyed in shock, Wolverine held the limp form for a long moment before his mind finally processed the scene and instinct took over. Gently, he deftly swung the other into his arms, curling the damaged webslinger close to his chest like precious cargo, and sighing. 

"What the hell have you done to yourself this time, bub?" he murmured, pressing a worried kiss to the far-too-warm forehead and striding rapidly towards their room.

~)0(~

Peter writhed fitfully, muttering and moaning as illness fought to take hold in the sodden, sweat-laden body. As Wolverine fought to strip away the filthy, ruined suit, the webslinger shivered and panted in turns, a slick sheen of ill-health upon his pale, clammy skin. 

Teeth griding in frustration, James allowed himself a calming breath; quashing the urge to simply shred the remnants of the other's attire with his claws, for Peter was moving too erratically for him to safely do so. Pain exploded in his cheek, forcing the mutant from his internal argument, as a wild blow almost snapped his cheekbone in two. Superhealing would deal with the damage, but it still stung like crazy the entire time he was wrestling with the flailing limbs; fighting to calm the arachnid acrobat, and free him of the saturated suit in the same action. 

A shredded sleeve comes free, though Wolverine takes a sharp elbow to the ribs, and he hisses through his teeth to quell the rising urge to fight back. _Hell_, he told himself, _he'd taken far worse beatings from people he wouldn't piss on if they were on fire... what was the harm in a little superpowered love tap from the dazed, confused and utterly out-of-his-mind unwell man he loved?_

His eyes kept straying to the alarm clock by the bed, an anxiety crawling up his spine as every minute dragged slowly past. It felt like an eternity had passed since the scent of familiar blood and distress had exploded through Stark Tower, leading the man from their room and running towards the elevators in a blind panic; heart nearly stopping as Peter collapsed in his arms with a frighteningly distant smile on his too-pale features. Though realistically, it hadn't been more than five minutes or so.

Still... James didn't know how long the pun-slinging webshooter had been like this, or what had even happened. Where in the seven hells were the other Avengers? Wolverine had to clench his fists tightly to forestall the emergence of his blades at the very idea that the other heroes had simply left their newest member, overeager Spiderman, in dire straits and failed to notice the state he'd been in. He'd jam that giant tin-can so goddamn far up Stark's keister the man would be spitting microchips, for this...

So much for, "Don't be so overprotective, Wolverine, we'll keep an eye on him!"  


What on earth, or off of it come to think about it, could have happened to the Spiderling in the interim? How had Peter gone from cheekily pestering his grumpy boyfriend with a million little goodbye kisses in front of the entire assembled avengers, full of excitement and duty as he went off on his first 'Official Avengers Mission'... to This? A half-dead, shivering, delirious mess of superhuman; caught between the warring factions of fever and ice, as they ran through his veins in sharp bursts that made Peter shudder and cry out.

Heart breaking for his lover, James murmured softly to Peter as he carefully took up a damp washer and carefully began to wipe the muck, blood and cold sweat from his worryingly slack features. It wasn't really words, per say, just... soothing sounds in the shape of them. Something soft to curl about his lover's frail mind whilst he tended the shivering, flushed mess the other had devolved into. 

Certainly, it would be far easier going to simply dunk the arachnid acrobat into the bathtub and scrub until the water ran muddy brown; but Logan was loathe to move Peter right now. He just seemed so incredibly... frail, right now. Uncharacteristically so, and terrifying to behold. All he could do was dispose of the soiled supersuit, wipe what grime he could away, and find something warm to wrap the acrobat he adored in... and hope help arrived soon. He had some medical knowledge, of course, you picked things up over the decades; but this seemed like it might need medications with complex multi-syllabic titles, and that went beyond his battlefield first-aid know-how.

All he could do was continue, he tells himself, and dips the cloth into the small mixing bowl of water beside him. They didn't have a bucket floating around, but there was a kitchenette in the small apartment, so he'd made do under the circumstances; James felt Peter would find it funny, and the absence of that familiar laughter weighed on the mutant's heart. Clear water swirled with murky streaks from the first rinse, growing denser, darker with every further dunking. 

James grimaced, deciding that the best course of action was to simply tip it out in the bathroom sink and refill it; leaving the door wide open as he did so, eyes never leaving Peter's form for more than a second. Ears pricked for the slightest shift of breath, of movement, of things going further south than they already had. 

By the time the mess of caked muck and gore had been cleared away, James felt almost as shaky as his lover; eyes detatchedly cataloguing the pale skin beneath, horrified at the canvass of bruised, bleeding, and broken flesh previously concealed. Peter garbled a raspy plea as he shuddered, body blazing with fever as his mind whispered about a phantom cold wrapping about him; breathing high-pitched and worrying, a grating sound on Wolverine's sensitive ears. In a minor panic, James began to towel the other off, hoping his actions hadn't exascerbated the illness by leaving the other so exposed... logically, he knew it was okay, it hadn't been all that long, but still the anxious need to protect the other insisted they do More.

Not providing any specific suggestions... just an insistent need to do More.

With one armful of lanky, heavier-than-he-looked acrobat, James yanked the topsheet from the bed until it slid to the floor in a crumpled heap, becoming a problem for future-Wolverine. Awkwardly, he fluffed his lover's preferred pillow and carefully lowered his lover to the bed once more. Peter shivered violently, curling in on himself as if trying to stave off icy death in the dead of winter... yet James could feel the heat radiating off him; could tell the other was caught in the midst of some terrible illness that his body was fighting frantically, and losing.

What could he do? What would the others have done?

The downside of superhealing is that it tends to deal with minor illnesses rather quickly, easily, and briefly. Wolverine could barely recall the last time he'd even been sick... perhaps it had been as a child? Yes, that sounded about right. What had his caretakers done? He wracks his mind and all that seems to fall out of the fragmented memories is a vague taste of chicken soup. 

Captain America tended to bring ill Avengers sandwiches, water and painkillers; jovially encouraging them to take them, or he would very patriotically Make Them. The man tended to care for his team in a very physical way that Wolverine could sympathise with...

Oh! A thought seemed to spark off in his mind like a jolt of static from a metal doorknob, startling him from worried thoughts and grounding him again in reality. Peter had recently received a care package from his Aunt May, hidden somewhere in their room; she couldn't help but to fuss over him, even now, he was the light of her life. James could relate.

He began to search through the draws; abandoning the task a few times to return to the bed, summoned by sounds of agitation or distress. Always soothing it away with a gentle caress whilst murmuring soft, soothing words to the acrobat until the disquiet finally settled once more. Despite the interruptions, James finally managed to unearth the small trove of things that Aunt May had sent the week before, carefully packed in the wardrobe amongst a series of... made-with-love sweaters that he wasn't game enough to wear in the Tower, just yet. 

The box, one of many, contained all manner of little treasures; from books on healthy cooking to bandaids, a small bottle of antiseptic liquid, a handwritten step-by-step guide to changing a tyre, a small cat-shaped keyring bottleopener-slash-taser, what was once a pcket of home-made biscuits (now crumbs)... and a triple pack of painkillers. James quietly gave thanks to the all-knowing Aunt May, most benevolent in her wisdom and affection. 

With a swift, quiet efficiency, James retrieved a glass of water and popped two of the pills in the palm of his hand; pausing immediately after to consider exactly how he was going to get them into Peter's clenched jaw, under the circumstances. James grimaces at the bitter scent of the painkillers, it curls on his tongue like smoke; and he tries to ignore it as he considers the only option coming to mind. Well, this was likely to get dangerous, but... at this point they had to get a handle on the brat's spiking temperature before he began to seize. Anything was worth a shot.

Crushing the tiny white pills to dust, Wolverine dribbles them into the glass and swirls the water to mix it. No point in all this if it clumps to the bottom, after all. If the scent is anything to go by, this should taste like dry paint to the other, but... well, Peter wasn't really in a position to argue right now, was he? 

"Babe, can you hear me?" He asks, sitting down on the bed by his boyfriend and resting a hand on the sheet covering Peter's shoulder. A sickly warmth radiated out to meet him. He slips an arm underneath the other's shivering shoulders and pulls him close in slow, precise movements; holding him tight, like one might an ill child, as he brings the cup to chapped, pale lips. "Hey, I got something that's gonna make ya feel better; might not taste like the best, but you need to drink as much as you can, alright?"

Liquid seeps between the barely parted lips, but still more dribbles down Peter's chin. James' jaw clenches in a confusing mixture of frustration and fear, but he persists; willing each little sip the other manages down the red raw throat. Encouraging and soothing in turns as the other occasionally writhed in his arms, pulled away in disgust at the taste, or swiped blindly at the glass in sudden confusion as to why he foul-tasting liquid was being administered. 

The other Avengers had better goddamn get back soon, he needed one of the more medically-minded teammates to check Peter out; make sure he wasn't gonna die of something ridiculously mundane because Wolverine just wasn't up to date on his basic first-aid. To be fair, it wasn't like he ever needed it much; you tended to just shrug off almost everything when you knew superhealing would spit the bullet back out, close the gash or burn the virus out with a fever most would not survive. When he'd been rimarily with the X-Men and one of the others went down, his role tended to either be the guy holding the villain of the week off until help arrived... or the guy who was holding the wound shut and saying calming shit until one of the others arrived with a med team. 

What he wouldn't give for some back-up right now...

His eyes snap wide open, as if a thunderclap had echoed between his ears when the thought landed. Of course, he was so damn stupid... they were't alone. This was Stark Tower. No one was ever really alone here...

"Hey, JARVIS! Can you call your daddy Stark and tell him to get back here asap? Spiderman's down with some sorta sickness and I need a hand. And tell him I'm gonna crumple him like a can of soda for letting this happen, alright? But not necessarily in that order."

"_Certainly, Wolverine._" A calm, omnipresent AI voice chimes. There's a pause, a ding, and then a response. "Mr Stark advises he will be back as soon as possible, and he is bringing Dr Banner with him." Another pause, as if he were receiving a futher response. "Mr Stark also stated that _he'd like to see you try._"

Logan snorts derisively. That sounded like Stark, alright.

"Sir, if I may suggest?" JARVIS continues. When he makes no response, the AI adds "There are swabs in the drawer to your left that you might use upon Spiderman's open wounds in conjunction with the antiseptic liquid you located earlier. It is imperative that all steps be taken to prevent a decline in condition." 

Oh. Right.

"Thanks..." he mumbles, still not sure about the AI and the fact he'd (and he wasn't even sure if that was how the AI identified) clearly been watching the whole scene play out without interruption for quite some time now.

"_You are most Welcome._" JARVIS adds, falling silent.

James clenched his jaw, repeating an internal monologue that what he did was helping and important no matter what, he kept to his task. Trying desperately to ignore the sad little gasps, twitches and pained whines that escaped the arachnid acrobat as James carefully swabbed each of the other man's wounds with the acrid-smelling liquid. His heart was actively breaking... and whilst it felt incredibly silly to feel this way, Wolverine was very aware that his were the hands that were causing his beloved pain; feeding into his deepest, darkest fears of being nothing more than a weapon. He had to shake his head, as if to physically dislodge the thoughts there, before continuing.

His eyes roved the pale flesh on display a second time, and a third; mentally checking off the injuries already covered. Making certain nothing escaped the antiseptic attention it required...

"_Nnn... J-James..._" 

His heart nearly stopped in surprise at the statement. Bleary eyes peered at him through barely-open slits; the sweat-soaked hair plastered to Peter's head as he begged, without words, to be held and comforted in a familiar embrace.

"Here bub, I'm here." James murmured, sliding onto the bed and curling the other into him, feeling Peter place shaking hands about his waist and pillow the pale, aching head on his chest. He hummed quietly, hand stroking gentle circles on the acrobat's back, trying to soothe in the only way his instincts could recall from the murky depths of his past.

Time passed by the pair like a river of treacle, thick and syrupy. Wolverine couldn't have said how long he laid there, just making soft sounds, until Peter's exhausted body finally settled to a less fitful form of rest. Breathing relaxing and evening out as the painkillers finally took hold, dampening the fever slightly; the acrobat's hands clenching at Logan's shirt like he feared the mutant would cease to exist if he let go even whilst deep in the arms of sleep.

  
  


"_Sir..._" JARVIS said, in a respecfully muted tone. "_Mr Stark and Doctor Banner have arrived on the roof and are making their way down as swiftly as possible. Shall I send them in to your apartment, or would you meet them in the infirmary?_"

James looked down at the shivering form curled against him. "Tell 'em I'm on my way, and to have everything ready."

"_Understood sir._" JARVIS affirmed, and fell silent.

"Peter, we gotta get you some real serious help, bub." He explained in a calm tone, sliding out from under the other and off the bed before pulling Peter tightly to his chest once more. "Just hold on... 'cause I can't imagine living without ya, and I ain't gonna let some bullshit cold take you out, you hear me?"

"_Mmmm...luvutoo..._" 

If he hadn't had supersensitive hearing, Wolverine would have thought he'd imagined the words... but the way Peter curled in tighter to the secure embrace, and rested his head on James' shoulder, said everything.  He presses a kiss to the concerningly warm, damp forehead. "Just hang in there, love... we're gonna get you help. Promise." 

Without another word, James all but sprints to the infirmary; holding his entire world in his arms, and mentally threatening every god he could think of, to make sure none of them dared think they could take Peter from him. 

~)0(~

* * *

**Epilogue:**

The first thing he noted as he swam back to consciousness, though cliche, was that his throat was prched. It felt like he'd been swimming in an inky sea for decades... but that couldn't right. Words formed sluggishly in his mind, but all that emerged from chapped lips were rough, grating syllables that hurt his throat to utter.

Someone carefully slipped a straw between Peter's lips, instructing in a gentle tone that he should only sip for now, or risk being sick on himself. Peter blinked, and blinked again to focus on the here and now; the blinding white of the Infirmary seared his tired eyes, though the familiar face of Dr Banner at his side, was most welcome. The glass was taken away before he got to finish more than half the glass; and Peter made a whine of displeasure.

Bruce's mouth quirked up in amusement as he said, "I won't ask you how you're feeling, because it's been a rough few days for al of us. What I can tell you, though, is that you're doing much better once we managed to isolate the bio-hazard enzyme attacking your system, and therefore synthesise a vaccine to combat whatever the hell it was Doctor Doom doused you in. We've had it distributed to the city hospitals as well, because more than a few other people were thrown into the river after that explosion and the CDC had no idea how to deal with a mutated alien virus." The man took his glasses off with a sigh, and rubbed at tired eyes. "You don't even want to know what the 'End is Nigh' crowd is doing right now... it's been a circus out there."

Peter took the opportunity to mentally catalogue his bits and pieces, making certain nothing was missing; he was just wiggling fingers and toes when his mind finally registered an unusual weight resting on his legs. Slightly confused, he glances down to find the source; and therefore missed the soft, understanding smile that crossed the good Doctor Banner's face, when realisation struck the acrobat.

"He refused to leave your side since he carried you in. Quite the romantic cliche, isn't he?" Bruce teases his patient, then pauses. "Well, erhaps excepting the handful of times he threatened to 'bend my spine like a pretzel' if I couldn't, and I quote, 'fix you'. Heh, the Big Guy didn't like that very much..." 

There's a rather large hole on the other side of the room a series of robots are trying to patch up, that Banner is pointedly Not Looking At. Peter chuckled, painfully, and it devolved to a coughing fit. The good Doctor patted him on the back until it ended, and offered the water once more. 

Slightly recovered, Peter couldn't help but use what energy he had to force an unfairly heavy arm to reach out and place a hand atop his sleeping lover's head. Wolverine honestly looked a mess; it was very obvious tha man hadn't moved from his vigil for some time, and finally collapsed into an exhausted rest sometimes recently. Even asleep, he'd curled protectively around Peter; ready to fight Death itself, if required.

"_You idiot..._" Peter rasps out, affectionately, and leans back on the pillows; utterly exhausted from the small interaction.

"I'll leave you to rest again. Just press the buzzer if you wake and need something, okay?" Bruce says, subtly pointing at the bedpan attached to the bedrail, and then patting Peter gingerly on the shoulder. "Anything. Even the Big Guy would probably help, if you need it. Don't try to do anything yourself... I have enough trouble with you stoic hero tyes refusing to take it easy..." The good Doctor left mumbling something about Hawkeye and Black Widow and... well, Pter must have misheard because the words microwae and pineapple shouldn't ever be in the same sentence.

As the man disappears into some other part of the tower, Peter looks down again at his lover, not startled in the least by the half-slitted eye watching him.

"_Knew you... were awake..._" he smiled, tiredly, stifling the urge to giggle at the sensation of the kiss pressed to his palm in response.

"Likewise, bub... I've been listening to your heartbeat for days... had me scared for a bit there." Logan admits. 

"_Couldn't leave you... you know... that_." Peter grins, a familiar light in his eyes that had been but a dim ember throughout his illness. 

"I know... now get some rest, Petey, you look like hammered hell." James presses a kiss to the warm, dry temple, and settles back on the chair. He doesn't object when Peter entwines their fingers. Only falling into a restful sleep, for the first time since this all began, when the soft, insistent sound of Peter's sleeping heartrate filled his ears like a private lullaby.


End file.
